


language of love

by CamouflageCamel



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Pre-Slash, Technology, Unapologetic Nerdiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamouflageCamel/pseuds/CamouflageCamel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles quits Shaw’s software development company and brings a bewildered Erik along for the ride. An exercise in unadulterated geekiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	language of love

**Author's Note:**

> Or, _Charles and Erik Create Linux._ I don’t even know what I’m writing here.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

 

Erik stares blankly at hundreds of lines of unintelligible code, the glare of the screen burning his eyes more and more with each passing minute. Shaw has him writing the framework for their new word processing program in assembly language. Erik hates his life.

He leans back, scrubbing at his eyes, and his head hits the back of the small cubicle his workspace is situated in. It’s not a very high wall: the hair at the crown of his head just brushes the top of it. It, and the hundred cubicles like it, are all tiny, connected monstrosities, sprawling across the large room with a network of pathways cutting between rows. Surrounding them is an upper level with a catwalk. It’s as if Shaw had designed the office space to resemble a scientist watching his lab rats scurry around a tight maze, scrambling for the prize at the end of the labyrinth. The low walls allow Shaw to stroll down the aisles and peer over their shoulders when he’s not looking down at them from the catwalk.

All in all, it gives the feeling of being constrained in some sort of corporate prison. It’s not pleasant in the slightest, but it’s all Erik’s got. He has pride, yes, still hates Shaw with every fiber of his being, but he’s found that he’s able to hate much more effectively with a roof over his head and food to appease his stomach. And all of that is possible only with the paycheck Shaw Industries sends his way each week. It’s a miserable existence, somehow made more terrible by the fact that Shaw seems to enjoy shitting all over Erik’s life in particular, but there’s nearly nothing he can do beyond it.

Erik arches his head back, cranes his neck until he can see the conference room in which Shaw had sequestered himself in over an hour earlier. He’d overheard from one of his co-workers (he can’t be bothered to remember their names or faces, despite having worked here for years) that Shaw is having another meeting with the vice presidents of each division within the company.

And, normally, this would all be a rather simple affair: Shaw calls the VPs in at least twice a month so he can pat his own back and have himself lauded with a glorious shower of ass-kissing. An in and out affair. But this particular meeting seems to have run far beyond that, and the growing volume of the voices coming from the frosted-glass room is beginning to draw looks from the employees below.

Erik has only focused his attention on the room for a few seconds before the door bursts open. All eyes fall upon the young man who strolls out of the room, looking as though he’s filled with purpose. He wears a navy three-piece suit well-fitted to his lithe frame, and has chestnut brown hair that seems as though it’s never seen a hair out of place.

The man makes his way down one aisle, ignoring the stares as he glances at the names posted on each cubicle.  A left, then a right, then another right, and Erik is suddenly horrified to find that the man comes to a stop at his cubicle. Even worse, Erik finally recognizes this man as Charles Xavier, vice president of Human Resources.

“Erik Lehnsherr,” Xavier speaks. His voice is bright, frighteningly cheerful and blatantly British. “Come with me.”

Erik stares. “Am I being fired?” he asks, slowly.

Xavier chuckles lightly, as if the idea of anyone being fired ever is simply ridiculous. “Of course not.” He then motions for Erik to follow him, and pivots on one heel as he heads toward the exit on the other side of the room. He’s only gone a few steps before he turns back and says, as an afterthought: “Oh! Make certain that you grab your bag, as well.”

He waits patiently at the row of glass doors that lead into the front hall while Erik gathers up his things. Erik ignores the hushed, confused whispers around him as he makes his way down the crowded aisle. He finally meets Xavier at the door, and together they walk into the hallway and down the corridor toward the elevator bank.

“Do I get to know what this is about?” Erik asks, after several moments of silence.  “Or is it meant to be a surprise? Some sort of VP inside joke?”

He knows he sounds bitter, but his experiences with the upper echelon of Shaw Industries’ employees have never been pleasant, exactly. Even if Xavier has been said to be rather amiable, his run-ins with Emma Frost have colored his perception of the management an unsightly shade.

Xavier laughs again, and presses the gilded ‘down’ button as they come to a stop in front of an elevator. “No, no, nothing of the sort. I’m afraid that the other vice presidents and I have never really established any sort of rapport with each other. No, this is all about business, Lehnsherr.”

“Oh.” Erik doesn’t know how he feels about that revelation. The enemy of the enemy could be his friend, after all, or they might just be another goddamned enemy. Xavier looks harmless enough (pretty, even, if Erik’s going to be honest with himself), but Frost is objectively quite beautiful, and that hadn’t stopped her from laying off a good thirty percent of the sales department last year, despite profits being far above their projected margins.

“So,” he repeats, just to make absolutely certain, “I’m not being fired, and this isn’t a social call.” Xavier nods, and Erik continues. “So what am I doing here, exactly?”

The elevator opens with a happy _ding!_ and Xavier turns and gives him a blinding smile. “You’re not being fired,” he clarifies. “You’ve just quit.”

Erik stands there for a few moments, mouth agape in what is surely a rather unflattering expression. Xavier continues to grin at him, until he gestures into the open elevator and arches both eyebrows at him. “Shall we?”

Erik glances back at the doors to the office, but he’s hardly taken a step in that direction before he sees Xavier shake his head quickly.

“I wouldn’t go back in there right now,” Xavier says, his voice a rushed almost-whisper. “I’m afraid I’ve angered Shaw quite a bit, and I believe that we should probably leave before security makes their way up here.”

As if on cue, the elevator opposite theirs _ding!_ s as well, and three men clad in the company’s security uniform step into the hallway. Charles makes an undignified jump into their own elevator and gestures wildly for Erik to do the same.

Erik looks at the glass doors of the office (where he can see Shaw jabbing an accusing finger in their direction) and Charles, and then chooses the lesser of two evils.

He hops inside the elevator, and Charles stabs at the ‘close door’ button repeatedly. The doors finally acquiesce just as the security officers make sense of Shaw’s pointing and jerk their heads toward the both of them.

The elevator slides shut and Charles presses for the ground floor, seemingly having regained his calm in a matter of seconds. He grins broadly at Erik again, and it would be a rather nice smile, too, if Erik didn’t suddenly feel the need to punch it right off his face.

“’ _I’ve quit?’_ What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly that,” Xavier responds. He takes a synchronized step back as Erik takes a menacing one in his direction, and he holds up both hands in a placating manner. “I assure you that all will be explained shortly, Lehnsherr. May I call you Erik?”

“No,” Erik growls.

“Wonderful,” Xavier says. “So as I’ve just said, I’d love to wax romantic about my plans this very moment, Erik. But I believe we’ll have to start running once we’ve reached the lobby, so I suggest you limber up.”

Erik stares again. He has the sinking feeling that being dumbfounded by Charles Xavier will become regular occurrence.

Xavier does a few stretches and shakes out his arms, seemingly in preparation for exercise, and then the elevator settles on the ground floor. The door opens and—yes, shit, _Xavier was right_ , and Erik curses him and Shaw and every living thing in the universe when they’re four blocks down the street and he’s breathless and with a seriously painful stitch in his side.

Xavier looks even worse for the wear, but still manages to sound gratingly energetic as he offers to pay for lunch through labored gasps and pants. And after the shit day Erik’s had, he can’t think of any reason to say no, really.

 

 

 

Xavier orders lemonade at the outdoor café they arrive at, and Erik’s mind, still stuck back at the office, flounders for a few moments before he realizes the waitress is waiting for his order as well.

“Water, he mumbles, and she nods once before heading back inside.

Xavier leans back in his chair and fans himself weakly. He’s still breathing a bit heavily, but he also has that infuriating smile plastered on his face. “You’re probably wondering why I’ve tricked you into resigning.”

“I’m a bit curious, yes.” Erik settles back as well. He’s not simply making himself comfortable: truthfully, he’s quite winded as well. As much as he would like to stick to a more rigorous workout regimen, Shaw Industries has hours that would make employees experiencing crunch time at Electronic Arts cry.

Their drinks arrive, and Xavier takes a long drag at his own before he continues.

“How do you feel about working for Shaw, Erik?”

Erik ignores the casual use of his given name, because despite having known Xavier personally for only half an hour, he already understands that it would be a futile effort to try and convince the man to stop being so friendly with him. “How _‘did’_ I feel,” he corrects.

Then he thinks for a moment, because summing up the amount of hatred he has for Shaw and his practices and his company and Shaw and that fucking cesspool of a workspace and _Shaw_ is difficult without descending into a flurry of swears and curses in multiple languages and some rather impolite gestures.

Instead, he settles for “It wasn’t very pleasant,” and hopes that adequately describes how much he despises Shaw Industries.

Xavier nods, as if he completely understands every unspoken word that Erik had been unable to vocalize.

“Erik Lehnsherr,” he says, as if reciting from some sort of list, “Junior Programmer in the software engineering and development department of the New York branch. Here on a work visa—”

“Which is most undoubtedly null and void, now—thank you for having me deported, Xavier—”

“—as you’re a native of Dusseldorf, Germany, and Shaw Industries has had your application for permanent residence on hold for several years. You speak six languages and you graduated at the top of your class in university, earning degrees in both electrical engineering and materials science. You redesigned the Industries’ entire desktop line within a week of employment. Now you have four years of work experience under your belt, and you are,” and here, Xavier raises an amused eyebrow, “somewhat overqualified for your job.”

Erik wonders if Xavier had arranged for him to lose his job just to sit him down and point out things he already knows. He’s been stuck in an entry-level position for far longer than could be deemed appropriate. He’s Shaw’s pet project: a toy to play with and manipulate until he finally snaps and shoots up the office or something. But Shaw has always had the not-inconsiderable power to blacklist him should he try to leave, so he’d been rather resigned to working his dead-end job for as long as Shaw felt it necessary.

“So they say,” he finally responds. “Does this discussion have a point, Xavier, or should I head home and start packing my bags?”

“Please, call me Charles.” Xavier sets his drink down and sits up straight again. “My point is that I’ve been a bit selfish: I took you from Shaw because I want to hire you myself.”

Erik opens his mouth to shoot back a reply, but pauses when he realizes that he doesn't know what to say to that. Sensing his apparent slight confusion, Charles shrugs, and begins to twirl circles in his lemonade with his straw.

“You’re not the only one who’s left his job today,” he says.

Erik blinks. “You resigned?”

Xavier nods, looking as relaxed as if Erik had just asked him if the weather was unusually hot for a New York November. (It is.)

This baffles Erik. He tries to keep the surprise out of his voice, but it’s a bit hard. Shaw’s vice presidents are some of the most egregiously well-paid employees in any industry. “Why? You had to be making some absurd annual salary. Why quit?”

“For many of the reasons you might have, had you had the option.” Erik’s eyes narrow at that response, and Xavier waves a dismissive hand at him. “Human resources, Erik. It’s my job to know everything.”

Considering that Erik himself tries to avoid thinking about the unusual terms of his employment and his relationship to Shaw, the fact that Xavier claims to know _everything_ about it is fairly troubling. “Everything,” Erik repeats, voice flat.

Xavier gives him a secretive smile, but does not indulge Erik in revealing what he knows about his past. Instead, he returns to the original topic.

“The most pertinent reason, of course, is that I realized that I was unsatisfied with what I was doing, and what Shaw Industries stands for. The money wasn’t worth it.”

No amount of money is worth working for Shaw. This is a fact that most of Erik’s co-workers fail to realize. It’s a bit like selling your soul, or working for Zynga. But right now, he finds himself looks into Xavier’s large, innocent, impossibly blue eyes, and sees that he’s telling the truth. For whatever reason, Xavier is not a slave to Shaw's impressive capital.

And Erik knows nothing of how it might be, to work under Charles Xavier, but nothing could be worse than Sebastian Shaw. So he takes a short breath and makes a decision.

“All right. Say I do work for you, Xavier.” Erik crosses his arms over his chest and gives the other man a calculating look. “What would we do, exactly?”

“Oh, all sorts of interesting things. And again: it’s Charles.” Xavi— _Charles_ spreads his arms wide, and a few pedestrians carefully skirt around his outstretched limbs. “You’ll never be bored, I can promise you that much. But the first thing we’re going to do is compete with Shaw.”

Charles has a devious twinkle in his eyes. Erik already has the feeling that this will not bode well for his own peace of mind. “And how, exactly, do you intend to do that?”

“’ _We’_ ,” Charles corrects him, “are going to do that by beating him at his own game. Do you know when the next release of their operating system will go live?”

Erik blinks. Charles can’t be serious. But, no: he looks fairly determined. “Eighteen months. You can’t possibly be planning to—”

“Create our own? You know me so well already, Erik.” Charles gives him an enthusiastic nod. “Year after year Shaw releases his OS, Phoenix, at a higher price, with no discernible improvements and a ridiculous number of unfixed errors. No other company has been able to offer a suitable alternative that hasn’t been purchased or dismantled by him. Until now. And we’re going to do it in half the time.”

Nine months to beat out hundreds of Shaw’s programmers in creating a fully functional operating system that rivals a product with a monopoly over the market? “And the two of us are going to do that?”

Charles shakes his head. “Not just us. We’ll recruit, of course. And the best part about our operation, Erik, is that it’s going to be free. And it's going to be open source.”

It shouldn’t be possible for anyone to completely astound Erik the way that Charles does. He’s spent his life with drab classmates and sheep-like co-workers, and he’s come to realize that they’re all really the same unthinking mass: a hivemind of conformity and complacency. While he’d had no choice to leave Shaw’s sadistic clutches, others had gleefully jumped at them, forsaking their integrity for the idea of a steady and respectable job with an industry leader. But suddenly, Charles Xavier walks into his life and turns it upside down completely with those two ridiculous words.

“Open source?” Erik almost stutters over the phrase, but manages to control his voice at the last moment. “How? _Why?”_

“To give everyone the freedom to do what they want with their own system.” Charles smiles. “That’s something that Shaw would never allow consumers to do. As for the how, I’ll be able to fund the company for as long as I need to while we’re getting off the ground. After that, it’s a matter of receiving support from a number of beneficiaries who are interested in our ideas. It shouldn’t be too difficult, really.”

 _‘Not too difficult.’_ Charles speaks as if convincing companies to betray business relationships with Shaw Industries is something he could do in his sleep. “Forgive me if I sound a bit skeptical,” Erik finally says, “but this sounds like a great deal of conjecture to me. Well-intentioned conjecture, yes, but conjecture nonetheless.”

‘Well-intentioned’ meaning that Charles is idealistic as fuck. He’s going to be crushed under Shaw’s heel within a month of starting up. And, despite everything, Erik realizes that he’ll probably be right there next to Charles when his optimism is hopelessly destroyed. He’s got nowhere else to go, after all. Short of returning to Shaw and begging himself back into the man’s good graces, of course, but the idea alone is enough to make his stomach churn.

“I have many plans for this company, Erik.” Charles leans forward, drops his elbows on the table and rests his head on his palms. His eyes sparkle with unbridled excitement. “But this has to be our very first. We need to let the users know that everything we do, we do in their interest.”

“The first rule of programming,” Erik says without delay, “is that you should never assume that the user is anything but a complete idiot.”

“Funny that,” Charles laughs. “I’d been told the first rule of programming was that any problem you come across can be solved with a sufficiently advanced Google search. But what do I know: I’m not a software engineer.”

Erik refuses to admit that a good eighty percent of the programming troubles he’d ever run into during college had already been encountered, solved, and discussed to death in some deep-buried search result. Instead, he merely grunts.

“And don’t worry yourself about your visa,” Charles says. “The paperwork will come through. I’ll be able to sponsor you shortly.”

Erik must have a dubious expression on his face, because Charles gives him a wry little smile and then adds, “and if that doesn’t work, I suppose I could always marry you.”

Erik has to wave off the help of the waitress, several other patrons of the café, and a passing stranger who claims to be an EMT when he begins to choke violently on his water.

 

 

 

It’s only when Erik wakes up in a cold sweat that night that he realizes the magnitude of what has just happened. He’s just been corporately kidnapped by one of the (formerly) most well-paid professionals in the country, and agreed to join a two-person startup that is planning to become competition for the most powerful electronics company in the Western world.

It feels good.

Erik allows himself a grin, then turns over in bed and goes back to sleep.

The panic sets in an hour later, and Erik lies there, fully awake, for the rest of the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this reads well enough with or without knowledge of the software/electronics industries, but that's something that's a bit hard for me to judge myself. Would this benefit from some Cliffnotes appended here in the end comments, or is it alright without?
> 
> About the story: I'm generally afraid of posting things before I've finished them, but I figure that putting this one up would stop me from glaring at it all day. So there are a lot of loose ends, but I hope they seem vague without actually being _confusing._


End file.
